when the grief is tugging
at my sleeve, pulling
me along
i grab it, entirely
in my hands and
play with it, between my fingers
stretch it, hold it up
to the light, make sense of it
i mould it into
a heart that is not broken
that does not beat too fast
that does not wince at the slightest
voice crack
or breath held for slightly too long
or eyes scanning my face
as if they know i am faking my certainty
when the grief tries to
hit, i let it
gave up on dodging when
the strain it caused to run
was more painful that accepting
that sometimes, i will have
a black eye to nurse
i let it hit
and then nurse it
on purpose
sometimes, i know
i must experience pain to grow
i do not run, not from grief
but i play with it, in my fingers
i flatten it, pinch it
anything to end the reign of it
and i know, deep down
it will always come back
but my hands
are open
every time
i am ready
every
time.
13:00pm - 20/01/26